


Between Here and Eternity

by richbrook



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richbrook/pseuds/richbrook
Summary: Bruce takes one of his games too far. Clark pushes back.





	Between Here and Eternity

Two semesters of art history electives at university, Clark realises, had little to no impact on his understanding or appreciation of fine art. Frowning at a painting titled Auxiliary Portal, he mourns the hours he wasted badly analysing Goyas and Caravaggios, stressing over dissertation deadlines and extra credits instead of getting drunk and indulging in some questionable sexual acts with even more questionable partners and other such debauchery.  


“You’d think they’re missing a decimal point somewhere before all those zeroes there, wouldn’t you?” a man in a tux stands by Clark’s side, arching an eyebrow at the sign displaying the price of the painting. “I guess they’ve gotta justify paying off that Ivy League tuition to Daddy somehow.”  


Clark takes a sip of his champagne and smirks. “I’d have to applaud anybody who can exploit the substantial wallets of these self-proclaimed philanthropists.” He squints and tilts his head to see if the painting looks any less garish from a different viewpoint. “Takes some real entrepreneurial acumen to flog off something you threw together in your bedsit in half an hour for almost sixty grand.”  


The man laughs and turns to face Clark. “Finally, somebody put it into words for me,” he extends his hand. “Rob Mulgrave, fellow cynic and fish out of water.”  


“Clark Kent,” he smiles and shakes his hand, carefully measuring his well-practiced grip so it isn’t too tight. “Cynic, but much too shameless to turn down the open bar and cocktail reception.”  


“My wife’s the curator at this gallery, you see.” Mulgrave says, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “So I get dragged along to all these galas. Mind you, they’re not all open bar and not many of them are for a charity quite as worthy as the Martha Wayne Foundation.”  


Clark hums in agreement. “It’s a terrific cause indeed. I must say, your wife does a terrific job here. I’ve often found myself getting lost in here for hours at a time.”  


“She’s something of a genius alright,” he beams. “I spend my day crunching numbers down at Gotham Merchant so to see her put her creativity into work here is really something else.” He smiles and nods at an older couple passing by. “And what business are you in, Mr. Kent?”  


“I’m a paper journalist, but don’t hold it against me.”  


“Hey, you’re talking to a lowly accountant, remember?” Mulgrave laughs. “Are you with the Gazette or the Times?”  


“The Daily Planet in Metropolis, actually,” Clark smiles sheepishly. “I’m in town for the weekend and thought I’d spend some of my time off networking with Gotham’s elite with the helpful addition of an open bar.”  


“Well it’s a pity you’re off-duty tonight,” Rob directs his gaze to the other end of the room lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “With Brucie Wayne here you’d have enough fodder for the gossip column for weeks.”  


“Ah yes, Mr. Wayne,” Clark turns his attention to the man in question—his partner, his lover of the past eight months. “Quite the character, if the tales are to be believed.”  


Bruce is cradling a glass of brandy in one hand, the other currently drifting lower and lower down a young woman’s back. His expressions are animated and over exaggerated as he tells a story to the group of women circling him. He gesticulates wildly, sloshing brandy onto the marble floor. Clark doesn’t need super-hearing to hear the man’s booming drawl.  


“— _I said Livia, sweetheart, I’ve got a seat for you right here!”_  


“That’s one word for him,” Mulgrave smirks, his words almost drowned out by the sound of uproarious laughter. “I feel sorry for whichever one—or three— of those poor fools he’ll bring home tonight. That’s to say they even get that far before he has his way.”  


“ _Brucie, you’re a cad!_ ” the blonde on Bruce’s arm swats his chest, pouting her rouge slicked lips at him. “ _I was under the impression you were a gentleman. They said you weren’t like the rest of them!”_  


“ _Estelle, mon cheri,_ ” Bruce croons and Clark knows Rob is speaking to him but he can’t help but stare, his jaw clenched and grip tightening around his champagne glass. “ _I can tell you, on that part at least, they were very, very correct_.” Gauging from her flinch, the spike in her pulse and her indignant shriek, Bruce had just groped her ass.  


Clark feels his own pulse quicken and a muscle in his jaw jump. He clears his throat and takes another sip of champagne. “He.. certainly has a way with the ladies.”  


“And men too, if the rumours are to be believed,” Rob whispers as Estelle feigns horror and storms away from the crowd. Bruce is after her in a second, grabbing her dainty wrist and steering them to a secluded corner directly in Clark’s line of sight.  


“’ _Stelle, sugar, you know I was only having a little fun. Don’t get mad at ‘ol Brucie, eh?”_  


“Wh—men?” Clark spares Rob a wide-eyed glance for a moment before eyeing the pair again. “I didn’t think he swung that way.”  


“ _Don’t make me look like one of your cheap tarts, Brucie! I saw the looks that bitch, Catarina Von Buren was throwing at you!”_  


“Apparently, the man has the most insatiable sexual appetite,” Rob says as Bruce’s hands descend on the woman’s hips and Clark swallows against the growl threatening to bubble up his throat.  


_“My darling, how could I have noticed when I only have eyes for you?_ ”  


“But listen to me, gossiping like some two-bit tabloid hack,” Rob laughs, clasping Clark’s shoulder and he must notice how tense it is because he pauses and Clark can’t bring himself to care because Bruce is dragging his mouth up the giggling blonde’s neck, his hand sliding up her waist to brush the underside of her breast.

“ _Know what I told the waiter at dinner tonight when he asked me what I wanted to eat for dessert?_ ” Bruce whispers and Clark is all too aware he knows Clark can hear and when he turns his head to meet Clark’s gaze, his lips curl in a sneer and he presses his mouth to the woman’s ear. “ _I said ‘something blonde with big tits_.’”  


“Clark? Are you alright?” Rob asks, wincing when the champagne flute explodes in Clark’s grip, shards of crystal raining to the floor. “What on earth was that?” But Clark can’t hear over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears and he knows he needs to make a hasty exit because he is literally seeing red.  


“Excuse me,” he says brusquely, bowing his head and striding through the crowd. He is dizzy with rage, damn near vibrating with it. It takes every iota of self-control he has not to take flight through the glass ceiling and soar through the stratosphere and scream his lungs out in the depths of space where nobody will hear him.  


Instead, a quick x-ray scan of the gent’s toilets shows they’re empty and unattended. He slips inside and locks the door behind him, startled when he sees his eyes blazing crimson in his reflection.  


“Fuck, _shit_ ,” he curses, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the counter as he splashes cool water over his face. Normally his laser vision is triggered only by an extreme threat or when he is experiencing intense fury. He inhales a ragged breath and berates himself silently for not keeping his temper fully in check. Although he is confident nobody had seen the slip-up, Clark knows he is not a man who can afford to make mistakes.  


He runs through a few calming breathing exercises before opening his eyes to see they have returned to their original azure blue. The granite wash-basin he had been gripping, however, is now warped out of shape. He sighs and loosens his necktie, his jaw tightening as he hears a familiar heartbeat approach the door.  


“Clark.” Bruce’s voice on the other side of the door is barely above a whisper; gone is the affected accent and lazy drawl. “I know you’re in there. Either come out or unlock the door and let me—“  


Clark doesn’t let him finish. He unlocks the door and grabs Bruce by the tie, dragging him inside and locking the door again at lightning speed before pinning him up against the cold tiles with a growl.  


“Hey, calm down, Clark. Fuck,” Bruce wheezes out a laugh—he actually laughs. Unable to stop his heat vision flaring up again with the spike of anger that courses through him, Clark’s world is blanched blood red.  


“Don’t—“ he grits out through gritted teeth, shifting his grip to circle Bruce’s neck, not enough pressure to stop his breathing, but the threat is clear. “You should know better than to push me, Bruce.”  


Any traces of humour in his expression dissipate then. He swallows; his Adam’s apple shifting beneath Clark’s palm. “What the hell is all this about?”  


“You know exactly,” Clark hisses, his thumb pressing against Bruce’s jugular. “Don’t act the idiot playboy with me.”  


“What, the girl?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “Clark, I’ve told you before; it’s just part of the act. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”  


“At _my_ expense.” Clark growls.  


“Nobody knows about us,” Bruce scoffs, his fingers curling around Clark’s wrist. “How is my behaviour damaging your reputation?”  


“I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks!” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, attempting to regulate his heartbeat by taking a deep breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing and you know the effect it will have on me and you fucking love every second of it.”  


“I acted like this long before I ever met you, Clark.” Bruce says tonelessly.  


“Bullshit. You never stooped to fondling a girl in the corner.”  


“I didn’t force you to come tonight,” Bruce says dismissively. “Nobody asked you to come and keep an eye on my every move.”  


“We both know if I wasn’t here you wouldn’t have spared those women a glance,” Clark hisses. “That performance was for my benefit only.”  


Bruce is silent, but the left side of his mouth curling up into a smirk is more than enough of a tell. Clark wants to punch it right off his smarmy face.  


He decides to kiss it away instead.  


Bruce groans against his mouth, tries to grab a fistful of his hair, but Clark clutches his wrists and pins them against the wall. He forces his tongue past Bruce’s teeth, swallows his moans and growls when Bruce tries to bite his lip.  


Clark knows Bruce is all too aware he’ll break his teeth before he’ll ever draw blood, but being the defiant and impossibly petulant sort that he is, of course he persists. Clark stops him by pressing his knee firmly between his legs, relishing the hitch in Bruce’s breath and the spike in his pulse. He feels the firm bulge of arousal against his knee and breaks the kiss with a grunt.  


“You might be smarter than the average person out there,” he snarls, pushing Bruce aside none too gently, “but I’m not a damn idiot either.”  


Bruce barely catches himself from staggering, wiping his mouth with a fierce glare. “What the hell are you talking about now?”  


“If you want something from me, Bruce—if you need something—you just ask.” Clark feels the anger ebbing off into disappointment, then weariness. He can’t decide which feels worse. “You can’t just manipulate me to do whatever you want.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I won’t be used like that.”

Bruce is staring at him with his hands buried in his pockets like an abashed schoolboy. After a lengthy pause, the corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk and he huffs a derisive laugh.  
“Alfred did always tell me I’m too clever by half,” Bruce mutters. “Took me far too long to realise it wasn’t a compliment.”  


“So you admit it then?” Clark’s eyes narrow.  


“Admit to what?”  


“To using me,” Clark says through gritted teeth. “To emotionally manipulating me for your own twisted little kicks! To driving me—“  


“To playing a game,” Bruce interjects, rolling his eyes. “A harmless little game to keep you on your toes and to keep the spark alive.”  


“The spark,” Clark says flatly. “This is all about the spark?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you _bored_ Bruce? Is that what this is?”  


“No.” Bruce grumbles, his gaze dropping to the marble tiles. “That’s not what I meant”  


“Are our lives not hectic enough without introducing this sort of mind-fuckery into the mix?”  


“I said that’s not it,” Bruce says tiredly.  


“Then for the love of God, Bruce, tell me what it is because I’m at a damn loss here.”  


“I just—“ Bruce clenches his jaw, his hands balling into fists by his side before he sighs and finally lifts his gaze to meet Clark’s again. “Do you know how frustrating it is to be with someone so vastly superior to yourself?”  


Taken aback, Clark hesitates. “What?”  


“Of course you don’t,” Bruce scoffs and Clark notes his pulse rising rapidly. “You’re you. This amazing, beautiful, God-like creature,” he says accusingly. “And to top it off, you have the audacity to be kindest, most compassionate being on this Godforsaken planet.”  


“Bruce,” Clark begins, but is swiftly cut off.  


“You could never begin to understand how I feel,” Bruce is pacing about the bathroom now. “How can I ever be expected to compete?”  


“Bruce,” Clark says softly, his steely resolve dissipating. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. We’re not in competition with each other.”  


“Not against you,” he sighs impatiently. “Against anyone else who might turn your head. There’s no denying you could have them in the palm of your hand in a split second if you wanted it.”  


“If I wanted it?” Clark arches an amused eyebrow. “Probably, yeah.”  


For a moment Bruce looks genuinely stricken and Clark allows himself to enjoy the fleeting pleasure of witnessing such an unfamiliar expression on Bruce’s face before guilt sets in.  
“Which would be an issue if I did ever want anyone else as much as I want you.” He holds up a finger to pre-emptively silence Bruce who had opened his mouth to protest. “And I’ll save you the trouble of telling me I don’t know what the future will have in store by telling you that I agree.”  


Bruce stands motionless, a crease forming in his brow. Clark savours his bemused expression before continuing.  


“I don’t know exactly what we have ahead of us, but what I do know is that I will be with you and stay by your side for as long as you want me, Bruce Wayne.” He takes a step forward and gently takes Bruce’s hand.  


“I’m sorry if I haven’t been forthcoming enough in my attentions to you to make you doubt yourself,” Clark says softly, prying Bruce’s fingers away from where his nails were digging into his own palm, “to make you doubt us. I care about you more than anything in this world and if I haven’t made you realise that everyday we’ve been together then I’ve failed us both.”  


“Clark, please,” Bruce pleads, shaking his head. “Please don’t apologise. You’ve been perfect—you _are_ perfect.”  


“Bruce..”  


“Just hear me out, okay?” Bruce exhales sharply and squeezes Clark’s hand. “You are the single greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. You’ve shown me patience and a kindness that I don’t deserve and since the day I’ve met you, you’ve brought a joy into my life that I know I’m completely unworthy of.”  


“Don’t--“ Clark is silenced by Bruce’s fingers pressing against his lips.  


“Bear with me a moment,” Bruce says firmly. “This isn’t up for discussion. It’s how I feel, Clark and none of that is through any fault of your own. Because of my own insecurities I acted out tonight. I wanted you to feel that fear I experience every day knowing that your head could be turned at any moment and being completely helpless in the face of it all.”  


“Oh, Bruce,” Clark sighs. “What goes on in that head of yours...”  


“I suppose I thought an added bonus of the game would be if I got slapped around a bit,” Bruce adds sheepishly. “Which I realise now was wrong.”  


“Games aren’t a problem, Bruce,” Clark says taking both hands in his grasp now and squeezing them tightly. “But a game is only fun if we’re both playing it. You can’t just push me to get the reaction out of me you want. It’s not fair to either of us.”  


“I know, I know..” Bruce nods and Clark takes his face in his hands.  


“We have to communicate with each other, Bruce. The good and the bad stuff. And as for this inferiority complex of yours,” he brushes his thumb over Bruce’s cheek. “I can stand here and tell you how much I love you until the cows come home—“  


“What did you just say?”  
“Until the cows come home,” Clark drops his hands and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “It’s a colloquialism that I’ve definitely heard outside of Kansas so don’t even—“  
“No, not that,” Bruce says dismissively. “The other thing. What you said before.”  


Clark pauses a moment. “I love you?”  


“You love me.”  


“Of course I do,” Clark laughs as Bruce’s expression softens into one of utter confusion.  


“You’ve never said it before.”  


“Haven’t I?” Clark hums thoughtfully, winding his arms around Bruce’s waist. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”  


“I think we both would have remembered you making that particular statement,” Bruce says haughtily, though he settles into Clark’s embrace. “You’ve been holding out on me.”  


Clark chuckles. “Please accept my most humble apologies.”  


“Denied.”  


“You still haven’t told me how you feel.”  


“ _I thought it was pretty obvious_ ,” Bruce says in an infuriatingly accurate impression of Clark. He squirms as he receives an admonishing squeeze of the buttocks. “Ahhh—alright. I love you, damn it all. I have for some time now. Long before we first got together.”  


“You did a pretty good job of hiding it,” Clark grins, fondly remembering the sour glares Bruce would cast at him as he lurked surly and scowling in the shadows of whatever room the League had congregated in. “But let’s leave that can of worms unopened for another day.”  


“Hm.” Bruce grunts, his heart thumping rapidly against Clark’s chest. “One of your better ideas, Smallville.”  


“Oh, this farmboy has plenty of ideas for you, Brucie you old cad!” Clark backs him up against the wall. “This country bumpkin isn’t as vanilla as you city folk might assume,” he catches Bruce’s earlobe between his teeth and cups his groin, giving it a tight squeeze.  


“Agh—“ Bruce growls, thrusting into his grip. “Never assumed it for a second,” he pants and Clark is busy lavishing his neck with bites and kisses but he can hear the smile in his voice. “Just been waiting for the right time for the real Kal-El to show himself to me.”  


“Oh, sweetness,” Clark groans and grinds his erection against the other’s hip, “I’m not certain you can handle all that Kal-El has to show you.”  


Bruce shudders and captures his mouth in a kiss, raking his nails through his hair and wrapping his legs around his waist. Clark is dizzy by the time they pull apart and Bruce’s mouth is red and smiling, his eyes are glittering.  


Someone is knocking furiously at the door, perhaps have already been for some time. Rolling his eyes, Bruce whips out his phone and within twenty seconds the entire building is plunged into darkness, the evacuation alarm is blaring outside.  


“I think Kal-El might be pleasantly surprised to discover all that I can handle,” Bruce pulls Clark towards him by his tie and smirks, their mouths hovering millimetres apart. “But I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun finding out.”


End file.
